Highest Stakes (72 page)

  He and Charlotte had settled over the years into an uneasy peace. He allowed her full rein over the stud, and she turned a blind eye to his mistress, but even if Philip could have had the woman he loved, she could never give him a son. It always came back to that.

  The heir and the inheritance that would never be his.

  His trembling hands refilled his glass again to sloshing. He knocked back a third brandy while he waited. Waited and brooded. He had just begun to feel the first dullness of his senses when the gentleman approached, introducing himself with a very correct and deferential bow.

  Lord Hastings responded with an arrogant nod and then carelessly waved at the vacant chair opposite him. Mr. Lee seated himself, refusing the proffered drink while his lordship replenished his yet again.

  "Lee," Lord Hastings said. "Can't say I know the name, though your face seems somewhat familiar."

  "No doubt we've encountered one another at Newmarket, my lord."

  "Ah! A racing aficionado, are you?"

  "Indeed, Lord Hastings, and as it happens, racing is the purpose of this meeting."

  His interest piqued, the earl replied, "You perceive me all ears, Mr. Lee."

  "I am come at the behest of a Mr. Roberts of Virginia, a gentleman with a fine appreciation of horseflesh and an even greater conceit."

  Lord Hastings quirked a brow at the disparaging remark. "You act as his agent, yet I think you no great admirer of this gentleman."

  "Suffice to say, Virginia society is comprised of much closer circles than in England. As we have many mutual acquaintances, Mr. Roberts sought me out, believing I might assist him in his singular endeavor. Believing his purpose is utter folly, it is only for the sake of our mutual friends that I have agreed to act on Mr. Robert's behalf."

  "And what is this folly? I am intrigued to know more of your imprudent Colonial friend." He once more offered a glass of brandy to Mr. Lee. Upon his polite refusal, his lordship shrugged, lifting his own to his lips. Slouching in his chair, he beckoned Lee with an indolent nod to continue his narrative.

  "It would appear that Mr. Daniel Roberts of Westmoreland County, Virginia, has conceived in his mind the belief that he possesses the finest piece of horseflesh in God's creation. Having been a competitor on the Virginia turf, I was acquainted with his reputation but am no less taken aback by the man's vanity."

  "So you say!" His listener barked with laughter and sat forward in rapt interest. "Precisely how did this Roberts come by his peculiar notion?"

  "By a fluke, my lord. His four-year-old colt bested the most superior Colonial blood horses for a very substantial purse, the largest prize ever won in Virginia."

  "Indeed fortuitous, but what has this to say to me, Lee?"

  "Bear with me, my lord, and I shall come to my purpose."

  Their discourse was interrupted by the arrival of several gentlemen of obvious consequence. The leader of the trio was a corpulent man of unquestionable nobility coupled with his unmistakable military bearing. The arrival brought about a remarkable change in the earl's seeming state of torpor. He smartly rose from his chair and snapped a salute of greeting to the corpulent man. "Your Grace."

  At this address, Mr. Lee, a man of quick faculties, deduced the new arrival to be the Duke of Cumberland. He swept an obsequious bow.

  Lord Hastings turned to the duke and his entourage, and said, "I make known to you the honorable Mr. Lee, a gentleman of Virginia, who has entertained me mightily this quarter hour."

  "Is that true, Hastings?" His grace appeared amused. "Then I would join you for a spell. God knows how I am in need of diversion
these
days." With a crook of his finger, the duke signaled an army of lackeys to see to his party. Seating himself with a grunt, Cumberland assumed an attentive pose. "Pray continue, Mr. Lee. I would hear this tale that has so amused my jaded friend."

  "I have spoken, Your Grace, of a certain gentleman who is come from Virginia to propose a horse race."

  "A horse race, you say? This is not so unexceptional. Who is the gentleman?"

  "No one of any consequence, Your Grace, but he has an inflated regard of his horseflesh, having defeated our Virginia horses, and has transported his champion with the stated purpose of besting the most superior runners in England."

  The entire group burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  "Conceited, you say? I would remark that the man is delusional!" His Grace retorted. "What do you make of this, Hastings?" he said to his former aide-de-camp.

  "'Twould appear a ridiculous vagary, but I should know what manner of horse he has, this Roberts. By what sire line is he bred?"

  "The sire line is unknown, although it is allowed he is of Saracenic origin."

  "An unknown Eastern-bred sire in Virginia, eh?" A brief shadow crossed the earl's visage, but he dismissed it with a visible shake of his head, casting off whatever notion had momentarily caught his fancy. "What of the dam, sir? I have heard you Colonials have imported a good many of our English-blood mares. What is the dam's family?"

  "The dam is native bred, a mare of the Chickasaws," Mr. Lee replied.

  "Chicksaw, you say? What on God's green earth is a Chicksaw?" His Grace barked.

  "
Chickasaw
, Your Grace," he corrected. "'Tis a breed of horse domesticated by a tribe of American natives highly respected for their horse sense."

  "A racehorse bred by savages? You bloody well do mean
native!
" interjected the duke. "I can't recall the last time I was so entertained."

"Is this meant to be a jest?" Lord Hastings asked Mr. Lee.

  "Indeed not. The man is in dead earnest; however, he has of late discovered an impediment to his aspirations."

  "An impediment? Aside from the lack of a real horse?" Cumberland asked. "By all means, you must continue this tale."

  "The gentleman had in mind to run in the Royal Plates but has learned, to his chagrin, that his colt is ineligible due to his breeding. We have no such rules governing the blood in Virginia, where any horse may race, so I daresay he never considered this complication. He has brought his horse at no inconsiderable expense and is extremely vexed that he should be denied the run."

  "If the horse is deemed ineligible, he is ineligible," remarked Lord Hastings. "Although this tale has been delightfully diverting, I fail to see how it involves me."

  "One can only sympathize with the deluded creature, eh, Hastings?" His Grace poured a drink and considered his friend.

  Mr. Lee replied, "Although the horse is ineligible to run any of the subscription races, the gentleman will not suffer defeat so easily. Thus, I finally come to my errand. Mr. Roberts came desiring to challenge only the most superior horses in England, and since some of the finest are reputedly housed in the Hastings stud, he respectfully proposes that your lordship consider a match race. Any horse of your stable against his Virginia-bred colt."

  "What?" Lord Hastings exploded in laughter. "He has in mind to match some half-breed native pony against the likes of Shakespeare? My horses have won three King's Plates this season alone! I would not condescend to such a mockery."

  "Mayhap you would be more disposed after considering his wager. He proposes twenty thousand pounds."

  The laughter abruptly ceased. "Twenty thousand pounds sterling?"

  "Just so. The man has more tobacco than sense and is in dead

earnest regarding his horse," Lee asserted.

  "Then I shall consider his ludicrous wager
in dead earnest
. What are the terms, should I accept?"

  "The race would be run at the distance, time, and place of your choosing, my lord."

  "Good God! The man's a complete buffoon!" The Duke of Cumberland slapped his thigh heartily while Lord Hastings battled his sense of disquiet. Something just didn't sit right with him. But twenty thousand pounds? Dismissing his eerie presentiment, he looked to Cumberland. "I find myself compelled to accept him, Your Grace."

  "By all means, Hastings! I would that I might also have a horse in this race!"

  "Mr. Lee," Lord Hastings said deliberately, "pray convey to your friend that we shall meet at Newmarket on the fourteenth of October, the day before the King's Plate is to be run. He shall no doubt be well pleased to have a wide and sundry audience to witness his most
auspicious
race."

  "He shall be pleased to hear of your acceptance, my lord. I suppose all that remains is to enter the wager in the betting book," he remarked casually.

  "By all means, Lee." Lord Hastings strolled to the infamous tome and entered the details of the wager, witnessed by Mr. Roberts's legal agent as well as His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland.

  When the ink was dry, Lord Hastings reflected, "I am come to mind of an old English proverb, Mr. Lee. 'A fool and his money are soon parted.'"

  Mr. Lee smiled politely and softly spoke his reply. "I am in mind of an even older proverb, my lord, 'Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you will also be like him.'"

T raveling as inconspicuously as possible, the two Virginians arrived in Newmarket a day prior to the scheduled match race. Anxious to avoid recognition, and particularly any inadvertent encounter with the Earl of Hastings, Roberts eschewed the better accommodations in town to take rooms at a smaller coaching inn, the White Hart, in the nearby village of Bury St Edmunds.

  Once settled, he sallied forth to the racing stables to inspect his horse, delivered by Jeffries and Roberts's Virginia groom, Tom, a full se'nnight earlier, to work in earnest on the Newmarket Heath. In his caution, he had instructed Jeffries to take every possible measure to keep his runner under wraps, a near impossible feat with so many congregating en masse for the King's Plate.

  The trainer's only recourse had been to stumble about in the dark, conducting their practice runs in the early twilight hours. Though the trainer felt at a distinct disadvantage, the able colt revealed not the slightest weakness. He was in top form, tearing up the Heath with blistering speed.

  Mr. Roberts was immensely pleased with the trainer's report. He did not desire a simple victory on the Rowley Mile. No indeed. He would be satisfied with nothing less than the Earl of Hastings's complete and utter humiliation, witnessed by the entire racing world.

Although they made every attempt to do so, the earl and his countess could not completely evade one another's company. Thus, over the years, at least where racing was concerned, they had come to a truce of sorts, agreeing to maintain appearances when encountering one another at public gatherings.

  This was no truer than during the twice-annual Newmarket racing season, the only time in which Lord and Lady Hastings actually shared the cottage in Cheveley. This autumn, however, he had sent his baggage coach a day earlier than Charlotte had anticipated.

  The event came as little surprise to Charlotte, who imagined he intended to spend the night before the race with Cumberland and his army cronies in a late night of drinking and carousing. She was, therefore, surprised to encounter him at breakfast early the next morning, and even further taken aback to find him clear-eyed, clean-shaven, and dressed to go out.

  "Philip, you are certainly up betimes! Have you taken to new habits these days?" she inquired mockingly. "I should not have expected you to bestir yourself before noontime."